Girl,daughter,snoring flesh with fingernailstoo fine for American jewelers,requiring the magnified eyes of some Swisscraftsman, a toymaker,also good with watches,and filigreed hands—minute, hour, and infant.Girl,have I forgotten you already?Have I lost that sweet amniotic scent,out of the room for the merest ticking of your clock,and back, startled by your presence,your breathing,your being?Girl,of war,I watched you battle your motherand still cannot believein you.No trick—no lying trick at least.No casino illusion, was your arrival,no amateur’s sleight of womb.I flinch and start and net my breathat the heft of fresh existence,the gravitas of your pink wrath.Girl,small apocalypse,my forever surprise.